


Little Red

by ashinan smut (ashinan)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, First Time, M/M, Rimming, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan%20smut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles did <i>research</i>. He has PowerPoints. And a red hoodie. Derek was going to cave eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Red

**Author's Note:**

> I finally caved, okay? I COULDN'T STOP MYSELF. Katka and Abby dragged me in kicking and screaming. So, here we are. My first foray into the porny side of Teen Wolf. Dear lord. Cover your eyes.

Leaning back in his chair, Stiles stares up at his ceiling. He balances a pencil on his top lip, hands shoved into the warmth of his red hoodie pocket. There’s a water stain spreading along the far corner; he should inform his father. He purses his lips, rolls the pencil to the side, and catches it as it falls.

There’s a click, his window sliding up. A breeze curls through the room as Derek sits on the sill, his eyes catching red in the fading light. Stiles tilts his head back at him, spinning in his chair. One moment Derek is on the sill, the next he’s behind Stiles, hands on his shoulders. Stiles grins up at him, fingers playing with the pencil in the confines of his hoodie. “How are you today, my sourwolf?”

“You smell like pine,” Derek says, leaning down to kiss him. It’s slow and steady and Stiles hums into the kiss, wanting something more desperate. He’s been researching.

“I was running around the forest, you know. Had to take some goodies to grandma,” Stiles huffs against Derek’s lips. Derek kisses him again, the slow burn of his stubble dragging over Stiles’ nose. He laughs into the kiss, pulls back when Derek can’t help but grin against his mouth. “What can I do for you?”

Derek noses against his throat, taking a deep breath. “You didn’t come see me. I got worried.”

“You just want a booty call. Not that I’m complaining. Stop sniffing me, you weirdo,” Stiles says, shoving Derek’s head away. Derek whines low at him, just a quick release of noise, and Stiles grins. He stretches out his hands, arches his back for show, and scratches at his stomach. Derek hovers over him, eyebrow raised.

“Are you done?”

“Are we finally going to have sex?”

Derek flashes a fang. Stiles shouldn’t find that as sexy as he does. “Depends. What is your argument?”

Stiles stands, flipping the pencil onto his desk. “Research is my forte, as you know. Want to know what I learned?”

Derek follows him, eyes flaring predatory red. Stiles feels his cock jump against his fly, already half hard. Derek prowls toward him and Stiles smiles, dancing backwards. It’s a game they play, an easy test of keep away. Stiles isn’t very good at it. He turns his back and Derek is on him.

Derek slots up behind him, one hand finding his hip, fingers curling against his skin in a grip aimed to bruise. He arches back, grinding his ass into the thick cut of Derek’s cock. Derek’s other hand slides up, pushing the red material away from his stomach. His touch lingers, sharp traces over his belly button and the thin trail of hair leading down.

Stiles tilts his head back and to the side, baring his neck. Derek breathes deep, nose buried in the skin behind his ear, fingers pushing up, up, up, until they slip over his nipple. He bites his lip to keep in the noise, eyes fluttering closed, but Derek pulls it from him with a sharp twist of his fingers. Derek rocks against him, that burn of heat so tantalizing that Stiles can’t help but moan again. He catches Derek’s wrist, still tight over his hip, holds on as Derek twists and pinches his nipple, turns it red and sensitive. He tries to curl away and Derek sets his teeth against Stiles’ neck, just sharp enough to warn, blunt enough to ignore.

Derek shifts his grip from Stiles’ hip to the button on his jeans. Stiles’ breath hitches, jumps against the bruise of Derek’s teeth, but he pushes back again, wordless permission. Derek pops the button, grinning sharp against his throat, before he licks a stripe up to his ear. “Do you want it, Stiles?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles answers, mouth open as Derek presses hot, biting kisses along his jawline. Derek’s hand works its way into his jeans, past his boxers, to squeeze hot and insistent over his cock. He groans, eyes fluttering shut, and Derek twists his nipple.

“Answer me.”

“I did, I did,” Stiles breathes out.

Keeping the pressure light against Stiles’ straining cock, Derek repeats, “Do you want it?”

“I always want it, I don’t know why we’re still standing, why won’t you _fuck me_ ,” Stiles says all in a rush. Derek sucks at the lobe of his ear before pressing practiced fingers over the head of Stiles’ cock, smearing the precome down the length. He doesn’t go much further than that, thumb a steady pressure just under the head, fingers touching light over warm skin. Stiles breathes in sharp.

“You’re already so wet just from a little touching,” Derek says. His teeth pinch when he traces them over the rim of Stiles’ ear. “What would you do if I left you like this, fucked you open until you couldn’t take anymore and then left you there, gaping and still hard? No, I don’t think you would make it. I think you’d come just from my cock stretching you wide.”

Biting his lip at the filth, Stiles spreads his legs as much as he can, ass grinding back in desperation against Derek’s cock. They haven’t actually fucked but every time Derek talks about it, all Stiles can imagine is being held open and left panting, loose and wanting more. Derek gets a hand up around Stiles’ throat, fingers careful over the soft skin of his jugular, before tightening. Stiles groans, pushing against the hold, grinning as Derek growls against his ear. His hand moves short over Stiles’ cock, just an aborted stroke, but it’s enough to send Stiles reeling, desperation a clamouring in his ears.

Licking his lips, he slips his free hand up his chest, under his hoodie and over his abused nipples. The pleasure is sharp, a heady drug that leaves him shaking, as he pinches and twists his nipple between his fingers. Derek grinds against him, cock catching against the fall of Stiles’ jeans, rubbing harsh and sure over Stiles’ clenching hole. He wishes they would fuck already. He’s done his research. He wants it. He knows he wants it.

 _Fuck_.

Derek tugs at his cock, just three sharp jerks before releasing him completely. Stiles stumbles, one hand catching the falling slide of his jeans, the other slapping against the wall. His cock peeks out of the top of his boxers, friction from the fabric making him groan. He twists forward, fighting not to come, the hair on the back on his neck standing up from where Derek is obviously watching him.

Breathing in, he turns, presses his back against the wall. Derek has draped his jacket over Stiles’ computer chair, fingers already stripping off the tight fabric of his shirt. Stiles clenches his fingers against the wall, eyes focusing on the flex and bunch of Derek’s stomach, the way his cock pushes against the fly of his jeans, the glint of red in his eyes as he stalks forward. Stiles meets him halfway, moaning as Derek shoves him back into the wall, dominating the kiss. He licks over Stiles’ teeth, pushes incessant into his mouth, bites at his lips; he’s cocksure and handsy. Stiles thrills under the attention.

But it’s not what he wants Derek to be focusing on right now.

“You always talk about fucking me,” Stiles says into his mouth. “But you never do. Are you all bark and no  _bite_?” He punctuates the last word with a sharp nip, grinning when Derek pushes him further into the wall, body pinning him still. Derek licks over the indent on his lip, eyes flashing that tantalizing red.

“I was waiting on you,” he says. He ducks his head against Stiles’ neck, mouthing at the skin there. Stiles thumps his head back against the wall.

“I’m pretty sure I begged you to after our first impromptu make out session four months ago,” Stiles says. Derek presses his nose into the hollow of Stiles’ throat, breathing deep. “The words I used were ‘Fuck me, fuck me now, I don’t want to die a virgin’. I admit, not my best line, but I thought you got the gist of it.”

“You were under the influence of a succubus,” Derek says, sucking a hickey into the underside of Stiles’ jaw. “I couldn’t take you seriously.”

“How about last week?” Stiles prompts. Derek slides warm hands under his hoodie, spanning over his hips before scraping down the small of his back. He slips his fingers under the hem of Stiles’ boxers and grabs his ass, jerking his hips forward. Stiles stutters. “I’m pretty sure I begged while straddling you pantless.”

“You came before I could get my fingers in you,” Derek says. He presses a kiss against the corner of Stiles’ mouth. “And then again when I  _did_  get my fingers in you. And then you passed out. Not conducive to the whole ‘let’s have sex’ angle.”

“Shut up,” Stiles says. He grabs Derek by the hair and turns his head, kissing him hard. Derek rumbles against him, pleased, and deepens the kiss, turning it filthy and commanding. Stiles falls helplessly in line, fingers scratching through Derek’s hair at every swipe of his tongue. They’re a hop and a skip away from the bed, where Stiles desperately wants to be. If he can get Derek on the bed, he can get Derek out of his clothes and that much closer to having sex with him. He very much wants that. He braved a sex shop in order to prepare. A sex shop with  _Lydia_. She had laughed at him when they got to the dildo section. Stiles left with a small tube of lube and condoms. Lydia laughed harder.

“Have I lost your attention?” Derek nips at his lip. “Because we can stop if you’re unsure. I can wait.”

“For the love of – Derek, listen to me very closely because I am going to say this as slow as possible, with little words so you can understand,” Stiles says, fingers tightening in Derek’s hair. Derek watches his mouth. That isn’t helping. “If I wake up tomorrow without that telltale ache in my ass, I am going to cut you off. Completely. I’ll live out my sex life using toys. They have some good sized ones that I’m sure can make up for the lack of sex I’m having right now. So, please have sex with me. Shove me down on the bed and fuck me through the mattress.”

Pressing a quick kiss against Stiles’ lips, Derek says, “I don’t know, could I still watch?”

“No, you cannot watch! What part of completely cut off are you unfamiliar with? No sightseeing, no tours, no nothing. This body would be closed for business to one Derek Hale. I mean it.” Stiles noses at Derek’s cheek, arching when Derek slips his hands out of Stiles’ pants and grips him under the ass instead. He bends his knees and lifts. Stiles wraps his legs eagerly around Derek’s waist. “Did that get your attention? Are we going to finally have sex?”

“I just don’t know. You’re not making a very good argument,” Derek says. He walks them backwards, balancing Stiles easily. He’s  _smiling_ , the bastard. Stiles purses his lips and arches, grinding his leaking cock against Derek’s stomach. Derek falters. “Okay, argument getting better.”

“I’ve thought about it so much,” Stiles says. He presses his fingers against the jut of Derek’s collarbone, breathing into his ear. “I’ve thought about finally getting you in me, finally,  _finally_ , and how it would feel, how you would make me take it, how you would wring it out of me with every stroke. I wouldn’t even need you to touch me. Come on, come on.”

Derek drops him on the bed, just lets him go, and grabs the bottoms of his pants, yanking them off. Stiles boxers slip down mid-thigh, dragging over his cock and making him arch. Derek pushes his hips down and presses the flat of his tongue against Stiles’ hipbone, as he throws the jeans behind him. Stiles scrambles to get his hoodie off before Derek catches his fingers.

“Keep the hoodie on,” Derek says, leaning up to kiss him. Stiles winds his arms around his neck, kicking at his boxers until they’re hanging off one foot. Uncaring, he tugs Derek down to settle in the cradle of his thighs. Derek’s jeans rub harsh against his cock and it’s good, it’s so good, but he can’t go off just yet. He pulls back, panting against Derek’s cheek as Derek pushes the hoodie up around his chest again, dragging blunt nails over his stomach on the way back down.

“Is this a kink?” Stiles asks, groaning as Derek’s fingers curl over his cock again. “The – the hoodie. Do you like the half clothed thing?”

“You don’t even realize,” Derek laughs, the drag of his fingers so light that Stiles chases the feeling. “But sure, let’s go with that. My little red.”

Stiles blinks, but Derek ducks down, nosing over his stomach and back along his hipbone, teeth grazing the stretched skin. His hand moves faster over Stiles’ cock, thumb rubbing continuously under the head, and heat pools in Stiles’ stomach, thick and heady. He fists the sheets, toes curling at the sensation, but Derek stills his hand, dragging Stiles back from that edge.

“Oh,  _come on_. I have the refractory time of a teenager,” Stiles says. He snorts. Derek bites him.

And then, like the goddamn tease he is, he fists Stiles’ cock, turns his head, and swallows him down. Stiles practically jabs himself in the eye trying to get the sleeve of his hoodie in his mouth, the shout building and building as Derek doesn’t even give him time to recover. His mouth is hot, slick and perfect; he pulls back up before going down again, hollowing his cheeks. Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, trying to connect chemistry elements in his head, but Derek keeps scattering his plans, sucking harder, moving faster, tonguing at the slit and massaging his balls. He can’t breathe with all the material jammed into his mouth but it’s stopping him from making some truly embarrassing noises, so he endures.

With an obscene sound, Derek pulls off, tongue dragging up and over the slit of Stiles’ cock before going back again. Stiles whimpers, low in his throat; bites at the fabric. Derek looks up at him, sucks on the head, and presses a thumb against his hole.

Stiles goes off like a shot. The rush rips a wail from him, barely muffled by the material in his mouth. His hips buck, his back arches, his head rolls against the pillow; Derek holds him through it, thumb pushing into him as he swallows. Stiles sags against the mattress, breathing heavy through his nose, lightheaded and endorphin high. Derek licks at him one last time before pulling away, resting his head on Stiles’ stomach.

“Jesus Christ,” he tries to say. The fabric chokes him. He yanks it free from his mouth and tries again. “Was – you – fuck.”

“Now we will,” Derek says, grinning as he kisses against Stiles’ belly button. Stiles stares up at the ceiling, catching his breath. Derek noses at his skin. “Lube and condom.”

Those two are in the drawer on his left, which means Stiles has to move. He doesn’t want to move. Derek drags his thumb out, circling around Stiles’ quivering hole. His cock jerks against his stomach, good to go for round two. Okay, he wants to move. He arches back, scrambling at the desk, but it’s impractical so he pushes at Derek’s head. “Move, move, if you want to fuck me you have to move.”

Derek reluctantly sits up and Stiles flops onto his front, ripping open the drawer and digging past papers and randoms for the bag under his DS charger. He digs into it and pulls out a condom, tossing it over his shoulder for Derek. He paws through the bag for the lube, making a triumphant noise as he brandishes it. Derek makes an equally triumphant noise and drags him back.   

Trying to roll over, Derek grips his waist, making it impossible. He hauls Stiles to his knees instead, stretching his legs as wide as they can go. Stiles trembles at the position, looking over his shoulder as Derek’s hands curl over his rib cage, circling around until his fingers splay wide over Stiles’ chest under his hoodie. Sucking in a deep breath, Stiles drops to his elbows, pushing his ass into the air. Derek makes a surprised growl, fingernails scratching down his chest and over his stomach. He leans down and presses a sucking kiss into the skin just above Stiles’ tailbone.

“You need –” Stiles starts to say, but Derek grabs his ass, spreading him open. His hole clenches and Derek breathes out over his skin. Before he can ask, before he can toss the lube back at him, Derek licks a hot stripe up and over his hole. Stiles scrambles at the sheets, mouth open wide as he gasps out in surprise. Derek holds him still as he licks him again, a long probing swipe that leaves Stiles panting and arching up for more.

Derek fucks into him with his tongue, the sensation so vastly different from fingers that Stiles’ cock jumps eagerly at the switch. He’s leaking everywhere now, precome dribbling down onto the bed and sticky against his hoodie. He can’t get a hand on himself, not without alerting Derek, and the hot thrust of his tongue is enough to send even Stiles’ best wrought plans spinning.

“ _Derek_ ,” he breathes out, arching his hips back. Derek hums and presses his tongue deeper, dragging a moan out of him that is just embarrassing. A finger presses against the rim, dragging around the edge, and Stiles bites at his lip. Derek pulls back with another lick, before teasing a finger in. He reaches up for the lube clutched desperately in Stiles’ hand.

Stiles lets go only when Derek drags a nail over his knuckles, rocking back against the finger barely buried in him. He wants more. He wants the stretch of it. Derek pulls his finger out and Stiles whines at him, rolling his head to the side and glaring at the wall. The  _snick_  of the tube makes Stiles clench, his cock jump. There’s a moment of dead silence before Derek touches him again, his fingers slick and probing, two this time. Stiles groans, arches into the stretch. Derek kisses his tailbone, licks a path up his spine to where his hoodie is caught up around his shoulder blades. He takes his time on the way back down, sucking bruises into the skin along his ribs, over the dips of his hips, until he’s licking back over Stiles’ hole.

Clenching around the two fingers working him mercilessly, Stiles bites at his clothed arm. It feels so alarmingly good, a spike of pleasure that rockets up his body and makes him buck. Derek spreads his fingers, gets his tongue between them, and Stiles is two seconds from coming. He gasps out a warning, his cock throbbing as he arches back against Derek’s mouth, against Derek’s fingers, and then Derek pulls away from him. Of course he does. Stiles sucks in desperate breaths, head spinning, and body alight.

Another  _snick_ , the sound of a foil, and Stiles groans. “Main event?”

“Are you sure?”

“ _I will cut you off_ ,” Stiles warns, wiggling his hips. Derek smacks his ass, which, whoa, okay he wasn’t expecting that spiral of heat, but he doesn’t let on. Stilling him with one hand, Derek presses the blunt of his cock against Stiles’ slick hole, not really moving. Stiles wiggles again, groaning at the heat, and then Derek pushes.

He eases into Stiles, slow and steady and Stiles focuses on breathing through the bite of pain. The stretch feels awkward at first, tight and uncomfortable, until Derek bumps against his prostate as he bottoms out. Stiles shouts, teeth finding the fabric of his hoodie again. Derek groans above him, long fingers flexing against his hips in uncertainty. Stiles shoves back, just a quick movement, and Derek rumbles low against him. He pulls back, snaps his hips forward, and Stiles can barely contain his wail.

There’s a brush of fabric against his thighs and he realizes Derek didn’t even take off his pants. He’s fucking Stiles in his _jeans_. The thought makes him more frantic, clenching desperate around the drag of Derek’s cock. Derek grunts, fingers tightening as he pulls Stiles back against him with an angry jerk. Stiles writhes, toes curling in the sheets. He wants more of that, more of that  _right now_ , and when Derek eases back, Stiles clenches tight around him.

“Stop it,” Derek grits out, shoving into him, sharp and angry and delicious against his prostate.

“I’m not going to  _break_ ,” Stiles gasps, arching his back and thrusting his ass up, catching Derek by surprise. Derek’s hold on his waist weakens, before Derek growls low and  _fucks him_.

Stiles grabs for anything he can: the pegs on his headboard, the bunched up sheets around his pillow, the saliva heavy fold of his hoodie. He moans and whines, cock bouncing eager against his stomach, and Derek twists his hand into the fall of his hoodie, and yanks him back into the thrusts. Stiles cries out at that, head thrown back as his muscles clench, as his cock drips messy over his stomach. He falls forward, panting, desperate, and Derek finds his prostate.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Stiles manages, scrambling to get a hand on himself, to push himself over that edge he can practically taste. “I’m close, come on, touch me, let me touch me, I don’t even care.”

“You’ll come untouched,” Derek says, growls, commands. Stiles twists against his hold, bites his lip as the angle changes. He’s so fucking close. He arches up to get a hand under and Derek grabs his desperate fingers, curling their hands together as he pushes them up and above Stiles’ head. Stiles wants to bite him, wants to flip them over and take his own pleasure if Derek won’t let him come.

Derek’s thrusts speed up, angled now to scrape over Stiles’ prostate, to wring noises from him without his acknowledgement. His hoodie sticks to his back, the cloth heavy with sweat. Trembling, he bucks back, gets Derek as deep as he can go, and bites off a curse.  

Huffing out a groan, Derek says, “Now.”

Stiles chokes, his cock jerking as heat rushes through him. He comes over the bed, over his hoodie, messy and desperate and thrashing. He clenches around Derek’s cock, the heat and the stretch and the erratic thrusts driving him higher. Derek fucks him through it, whispering his name as he pushes in as far as he can and comes. Stiles shakes with it, body twitching from the aftershocks, gasping out desperately for air. Derek groans and falls forward, held up only by the hand clasped with Stiles', his other still bruising on Stiles’ hip.  He eases out, releases Stiles, and Stiles can’t even bother with muscles at the moment because  _holy shit_.

He collapses, legs splayed wide, stomach sticky and wet with come. His hoodie is hiked up uncomfortably around his armpits, heavy with saliva along the arms, and sweat and come over the front. He groans as Derek collapses beside him, and Stiles turns his head to look at him.

“We need to do that again, in about five minutes, because holy shit,” Stiles says. Derek eyes him, removing the condom and depositing it with a flick. Stiles squirms closer. “We can do that again, right? We can do that many times again because I did  _research_ , do you realize, I’ve looked up positions that are all set to maximize both the pleasure and the experience. We need to get on that. I made a PowerPoint.”

“I believe you,” Derek says. He runs a hand over Stiles’ hair, scratching at his neck. Stiles finally manages to flop half on top of Derek, grinning at his groan. “Why are you still talking? And why are you still wearing that disgusting hoodie?”

“Because a big bad wolf decided to dirty it up,” Stiles sing songs. Derek freezes at the proclamation and Stiles wiggles in post-orgasmic bliss. “Oh, yes, I got your little reference. So, Mr. Wolf. What big  _hands_  you have.”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Lying lies. Sex now?” Stiles sits up, hissing at the ache in his ass and the interested twitch of his cock. Yes, that’s what he wanted.

Derek runs a hand up his stomach, under the filthy stain of his red hoodie. “I’ve created a monster.”

“What time is it, Mr. Wolf?”

“Stiles, I swear.”

“Shut me up then.”

Derek takes that for the challenge it is. Stiles still wins. 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [my tumblr](http://carefulwiththatwolfwhistle.tumblr.com/post/30092543362/teen-wolf-fic)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [To Derek's House We Go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/546916) by [Spaggel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spaggel/pseuds/Spaggel)




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